Funeral Pyres
by hikomokushi
Summary: Everyone has their own poison. Drabbles with various ratings, themes and characters.
1. Death of Loneliness

**Title:** Funeral Pyres  
**Author:** Hiko Mokushi  
**Pairing:** Various  
**Rating:** PG to R  
**Disclaimer:** Kishimoto-sensei owns Naruto.  
**Summary:** Everyone has their own poison.

**Author Notes: ** And idea that got stuck in my head and wouldn't get out. These are 'prompts' that I made up myself, going along with the character. There will eventually be 11 of these, unless something changes at a later date and I add more. But for now, only 11.

I PROMISE! I _am_ working on _Picture Trends_! xD

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**Subject:** Naruto  
**Death:** Death of Loneliness  
**Pairing:** NaruHina  
**Rating:** G  
**Word Count:** 550

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"_. . . to share the good times and the hard times side by side. . ."_

It's something about the way that she looks at him, behind the thin, sheer veil that sends shivers down his spine.

Those looks are not seductive. They are neither steamy, nor appealing.

The emotion held within those lavender eyes, hidden behind her silvery-white pall, are merely comforting; a wave of understanding that spreads and soothes his soul.

"_. . . I humbly give you my hand and my heart as a sanctuary of warmth and peace. . ."'_

She knows what he is thinking and knows exactly how to quell his hurt.

For once, his cool confidence has left him, his courage sucked dry from his veins. Palms sweaty, his pulse racing, he clutches to her hands as if he stood on a rocky precipice. Her shyness has overcome his worries, and she holds him with a firm grip he can only find reassurance in. The fumbling, stuttering little girl he once knew has changed; and it is _her_ that holds him above the water.

"_. . . and pledge my faith and love to you. . ."_

Despite the time and place, he cannot help but look back on the few that surround them.

The missing shock of spiky black hair is painfully evident to his crystalline gaze.

The tall, brown-haired jounin instead behind him indeed has spiky hair, but his eyes lack a coldness inherent in red tomoe.

"_. . . just as this circle is without end, so is my love for you. . ."_

Shuffling nervously, the metal slips about his damp palm, and he slides it to his fingers to hold out for the crowd to see. The gold glitters like a spark of sunlight, despite the rainy weather. It is said the rain is lucky—at least that is what he overheard the pink-haired bridesmaid murmur. Blue eyes focused on the tiny object, and he stares in wonder.

Who knew such a small, insignificant band could mean so much to his heart?

"_. . . just as is it made from an incorruptible substance, my commitment to you will never fail. . ."_

It should not have been this way.

There were so many missing.

Spiky black hair, a green vest, a gentle bark. . .

Blue meets green as the young man glances over her shoulder, to stare into eyes that cry with tears not for herself—but for him.

She should have been first, and it should have been grand.

He knows she thinks of that spiky hair too.

The room grows quiet. Sliding the tiny, glimmering object about her fourth finger, he breathes a sigh of relief; and in spite of all the shortcomings, smiles just a bit to himself.

The veil is up—he prefers her like this.

"_. . . with this ring, I thee wed."_

There are tears in those lavender orbs too, and a finger lifts to brush them gently away.

He does not even hear those last five words Tsunade says—his blood beats to choirs of angels in his ears. For once, as he stares into those gentle eyes, the spiky-haired youth slips from his mind for the first time in years.

Ghosts have no place other than their graves.


	2. Death of Blood

**Author Notes: ** Can we tell I don't like Sasuke? Sorry this is short. I'm not used to writing for him, and it's rather difficult to get into it as much as Sakura, as he's first of all a boy, and second of all, psychotic in my mind.

When I think of Sasuke, I think of the speech the First Slayer gives to Buffy in the last episode ("Restless") of Season Four of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. So, seeing as I wanted to try and make it longer, I incorporated the speech into this. Joss is boss, and I love him. xD

_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ © Joss Whedon.

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**Subject:** Sasuke  
**Death:** Death of Blood  
**Pairing:** none.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 351

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_He sees hundreds beneath his feet._

_He does not recognize their faces, he does not know their names—but their pain burns inside of his own heart._

They fall beneath him. He does not count, he does not remember. They are not worth his pity, his feelings. He has no feelings now. They are only _practice_. His sword swings, chops, slices. Its shadow forms ribbons of metal within the air, and he dances in a strange, mysterious, dance. It is a dance of death—the only dance an Avenger knows.

_He can hear them._

There is no reply, nothing he can say to comfort them. He wouldn't know what to say even if he could.

An Avenger has no speech. No name.

He lives only in the action of death. The blood cry. The penetrating wound. He is destruction. Absolute. Alone.

_His dreams are haunted with them._

When he goes to bed, he tries to think happy thoughts; lead himself to nighttimes filed with sweet dreams and clandestine hopes.

His mind won't obey.

It gives him nothings filled with blood.

_It almost seems too easy. He is too hopeful. Too anxious too forget._

A blond-haired boy with whiskers on his cheeks. A pink-haired girl with tears filling her green eyes before they close, sightless.

The ground, the stone bench—they're cold against his back and he wonders if maybe he somehow went wrong.

They too, were _practice_.

_Black tomoe spin inside red eyes and he knows in his heart that yes—he went wrong. He went horribly wrong._

Mother, father, aunty, uncle, grandmother, grandfather. . .

_Sasuke's hand tightens about the hilt of his sword and he swings once again. They are broken, shattered. The way their bodies twist, contort; he's pleased at the shapes they make in the dirt, the dust. A tale, red-written beneath his feet. He feels satisfied, proud even. This is what he has waited for. This moment, this second._

_Even though the blood is on his clothes and not his eyes, they are still red._

_In the moment, the voices fade._

He can hear Itachi laugh.


End file.
